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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29125830">Demon Tarot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orca_child/pseuds/Orca_child'>Orca_child</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Drama, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's kinda horror but not really, M/M, Mild Gore, Misdiagnosed with mental illness, Monsters and Spirits, POV Third Person, Science Fiction &amp; Fantasy, Tags Are Hard, Vent Work, Wrongly depicted mental illness (CAUSE HE'S NOT ACTUALLY MENTALLY ILL), but he's actually possessed guys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:55:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29125830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orca_child/pseuds/Orca_child</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Abiah never thought himself anything less than cursed, a monster constantly lusting after his eyes, but everyone around him just called him insane, called the monster a hallucination. His whole life he was treated like he was ill, everyone ignorant of the monster that hung overhead every day.<br/>Just when he thought all was lost, Jason enters his life and proves that the world is way more multifaceted than the normal human's dim perception made them believe. A world where the supernatural rule over humans from the shadows opens up before Abiah, returning color to his disgraced life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. E.E.L. - 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  "So, today we will learn..."</p><p>   It was Tuesday. It was almost nine in the morning. It was the start of yet another school day. The teacher droned on and on about the lesson, essentially putting his students to sleep long before he actually began teaching. The brontide outside was audible just below the man's voice. Abiah blinked slowly wishing for the storm to come quicker so there could be a power outage. He knew better than to assume the best, but he couldn't help it. His history teacher was by far the blandest teacher he had the misfortune of meeting. Even days engaging topics were being discussed, he somehow managed to make it monotonous to the point that even the most fervent of history lovers are put to sleep. Salute the dreams for that's all he's giving out. He was even more effective than sleeping pills. He would know. </p><p>    Abiah leaned to the side, a hand cupping his cheek as he rested on his elbow. Being at school was never any fun. How many times had he said that to himself? God, he didn't know anymore. Too many days blended together despite his attempts to spice his life up a bit with video games and reading. All of the crap his life had thrown at him spun around in his head but nothing was interesting. All the time it was just studying, chores, and learning. It was never anything else. Even the news seemed to be stuck on repeat, like the rest of the world all stagnant with history always repeating itself over, and over, and over. </p><p>    Least of all, the comments on his eyes never stopped. Nor the comments on his 'problems' that he never once thought to discuss with anyone. Recently his mother had decided to take him to see a psychiatrist and she prescribed him some medicine saying that he had schizophrenia, but he knew better. What he saw wasn't a bunch of hallucinations or visions, they were real things.</p><p>    The monster was real. </p><p>    Ever since he was eight he had seen that monstrous lump of wriggling flesh in his peripheral vision, always in the corner where he was too slow to whip around and catch. But, as he got closer to the double digits, it started appearing in brief flashes right in front of him, clinging to the ceiling. A blink and it was gone. Just stuff that kept him on his toes all the time. And now the older he gets the more he sees that thing in the clear. It's always on the ceiling, always clinging with weird tentacles splayed all over the place, covering pretty much everything. </p><p>    It didn't scare him before because it was just a big mass of peach, kind of like a wiggly, lumpy fruit if he thought positively. But, it also just looked like bubbling flesh with a sealed shut mouth in the very center of it. In all his encounters it wouldn't do anything so he couldn't say much about it at all. What it wanted he couldn't say. It just existed and it never left him alone, even when he took his medications as prescribed. The pills didn't do anything because they weren't what he needed. Medicine for fantasy couldn't erase reality. </p><p>    What he never understood is why nobody else saw it. Nobody else heard it when it made weird sloshing noises. His mother would dismiss his concerns when it started up at night, giggling, groaning, creaking, whispering. When it was around it was so noisy, but it never moved or did anything, but God did it laugh a lot. He could hardly sleep and had taken to just downing melatonin before bed to try and get some semblance of rest. That is until he read online that long term usage of sleeping drugs could damage his health, so he quit taking them out of fear. The voice only laughed at him for it, though. He swore he heard it call him a coward at that moment, and that what he read wasn't true. He wasn't going to hurt himself because of that. </p><p>    But, after that, the monster wouldn't stop giggling all night and day. Wouldn't leave him alone. His thoughts were such a mess and he couldn't even think when doing his homework. He couldn't sleep because it was always moaning into his ear, those nonsensical groans of pain and despair. He got headaches all the time and his thinking was in disarray and his stress levels increased beyond what a fourteen-year-old should've been experiencing. He was ready to snap at anyone who pissed him off from the sheer exhaustion that gripped his brain, slicing his fuse in half, turning him into a ticking time bomb. But, he wouldn't pick up those sleeping pills again. </p><p>    He could deal with it. What he couldn't deal with was the side effects of being labeled a schizophrenic son. The stress caused by the monster and the mumblings of his mother and doctor didn't help. He knew what she would be saying on the phone to her friends and co-workers. How pitiable she was for having a broken child and how much a lunatic he was. How he couldn't keep himself under control, how much he lashed out at nothing, how he would be frightened by things that didn't exist, how he would refuse to do his work, the list goes on and on. Once he caught her melodramatically telling someone how she was thinking of getting specialized therapy for her poor unfixable son. </p><p>    Abiah scowled and dug his fingernails into his cheek, scratching over and over until his face was completely red. That wasn't even taking into account all the times she made herself look like the victim, claiming that she had it so much rougher than other mothers because she had so much to worry about. How stressful it was to look after him even though he didn't even do anything wrong. All he did was whine about a monster all day. He did his chores perfectly and even tried his hardest to do well in school without the special assistance that he obviously didn't even need in the first place. She kept lying and saying how he couldn't even take care of himself. It was complete bullshit! </p><p>    Unable to look after himself? Yeah, right. He's just fine. </p><p>    Ever since he got that bogus diagnosis she's been crying about how much Abiah needed to be looked after and treated specially. Even going to middle school was a massive task because of all the stuff she's whined to the school about. She wanted him to be in special classes because she was worried he needed some extra help or quiet space to not get overwhelmed. That sort of crap he didn't actually need. The only thing that pissed him off was everyone treating him like some zoo exhibit because he was different than them, or like he was some psycho who needed to be in some asylum all day locked up in a strait-jacket. A serial killer in waiting. </p><p>    There was nothing wrong with him. It was real. There was no mental illness, no disease, no hallucination. It was a real monster that stalked him every damned day and night. It wasn't an illusion or a product of his 'broken' mind. The medicine not working should've been proof enough. Why couldn't they just accept that it existed? Why does it have to be fake? Are they scared? What there to be afraid of? It was perfectly harmless, if not obnoxious to a perpetually infuriating degree. He wasn't sick, dammit!</p><p>    Abiah realized he had been breaking the skin and making his face bleed and quickly removed his hand from his face. He glanced down at his nails and winced when he saw the tiniest bit of blood from the little cuts. He's just glad he didn't rip off his cheek with how pissed he was. He muttered as quietly as he could, "Fuck..." There wasn't anything he could do, was there? </p><p>    Days configured since long ago by fate and destiny belong only to nothing and were correlated by his own supposedly whimsical decisions. Yeah, he couldn't control his life, that was nobody's fault or business so it didn't particularly matter. It didn't mean anything either. Just how it was, and that damned beast was just another little thing predetermined to haunt him by the supernatural coercion that held reality together or something. Philosophy wasn't his specialty, he'd admit that to everyone and their dog. </p><p>    As much as he'd like to punch both philosophy and destiny in the face, that was kind of a metaphysical thing? </p><p>    Abiah's body tensed and every muscle was stretched taut upon the sloshing overhead disrupting his internal monologue. As many times as he's endured it at home, the monstrosity had never bothered him much at school. It was an anxiety-inducing experience that he couldn't handle. The eyeless lump was hanging, clinging to the roof of the room, but all the lights shined right through it, just as if it were a translucent hologram. As per usual, nobody acknowledged its existence. That pressure. It weighed down on Abiah's chest and he didn't know what to do. He could keep a straight face, but if it started making noise it was a fat chance of him focusing on his work. Not that could focus anyway but it sure as hell made it harder. You know what? Rescind the whole school day, storm. Just shut everything down for the while. The storm itself seemed to respond to his thoughts lazily, with only a tiny drizzle gracing the city and gentle growls from the clouds. </p><p>
  <em>    "Obstinate bastard storm."</em>
</p><p>    Abiah's eyes flicked up to the ceiling at the monster; it started giggling at him again. Louder than usual, deeper. The sound was more tangible, less dreamlike. Its growing corporeality was evident. Why wasn't anyone hearing this? Seeing this? Why did it have to be just him? Was it those eyes of his or something else? If it were because of his eyes being different god help him he would rip them out himself just to stop dealing with that thing. </p><p>    It began to wriggle, moving slightly away from him and towards the front of the room. His eyes followed its every movement with disquiet. It never moved before. What the fuck. This wasn't okay. It wasn't supposed to move. Oh God, what was it doing?! </p><p>    It stopped, hovering right above some of his classmates, mouth shifting into a merciless sneer as it seemed to wait for him to process its motions. The sentiment it had given him was one of mischievousness. The sealed mouth opened for once in his life and bared dozens of small shark teeth all flexing and curling with every heaving breathe it took. The giggling stopped, and it merely huffed. Over and over that heavy, damp sound resounded. </p><p>    Then, the girl in the second row was headless, and the beast was chewing with blood gushing from between the gaps in those rings of white. Crunching, munching, sloppy noises of squelching, and the ticking of fangs tapping together. It took but a moment to process, and Abiah was out of his seat with a shriek. "You bastard!" </p><p>    The classroom froze and turned to him, the teacher lowering his finger tentatively from where he was pointing at a map, his eyebrows drawn together. "Mr. Klaussen? What's wrong?" he asked.</p><p>    "What's wrong? Do you really need to ask that? Did you not see her head get ripped off? Are you blind?!" Abiah gestured to the beheaded girl, who if she had a head, would've probably been staring at him incredulously. She was sitting upright with her hand on the back of her chair, twisted some so she could apparently get a clearer view of him. Her shoulders were covered in blood and the bones in her neck visible as blood trickled down from the large hole, orange sweater drenched in crimson. The girl sitting next to her gave the headless girl a look of perplexity and shrugged, the headless girl shrugged back. </p><p>    Abiah blinked slowly, staring directly at the crimson neck exposed to him, and back up to the beast above. "You ... didn't you see it?" he asked. </p><p>    The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose, "Mr. Klaussen, do you need a time out? Actually, didn't you take your medicine this morning?" </p><p>    "The medicine is bullshit- just a lie! How come you're blind?" </p><p>    "Mr. Klaussen! Language!" </p><p>    Abiah's mouth twitched and he stared at the class. They couldn't understand his reaction, or why he had become so distressed. They were stunned silent by his aggression, and the headless girl had shrunk into her seat trying to avoid wandering gazes. Wait. They didn't see anything. She was still alive and moving? Humans can't survive without their heads, so how was she... </p><p>    His eyes slowly rose to the monster, who was giggling softly. It wiggled as if endeared by Abiah finally figuring stuff out.</p><p>    His voice was harsh, "You tricked me?"</p><p>    It wiggled in glee. </p><p>    He gritted his teeth and grabbed a book and slammed it on the desk. He wasn't sure why he did that. His whole body felt like it was full of electricity and it had no way to get out, no escape. Without much else to say, he stormed out of the classroom while prying eyes followed. The impending lecture heated his face up and his whole body pulsed from the rage boiling inside. </p><p>    As he was leaving, he heard the teacher call to the class, "Someone please follow him and make sure he goes to the nurses' office..." anything he said after that was cut off by the distance and Abiah's sneakers stomping through the empty halls. He huffed as he walked, soon hearing a pair of shoes scurrying after him. Goddammit someone actually followed him. </p><p>    The quickened his pace, storming down the hallway. "Abiah, wait! I gotta take you to the nurse!" the boy sent out called after him, a very weak voice that made him feel sick inside. </p><p>    "Why? Go away. I don't need you." he near growled as he spoke. His voice was a blazing inferno of hatred, burning bright for that deceptive roof-hugging bastard. All sentimental thoughts were thrown and blown away by the storm outside. That boy had no reason to be helping him aside from wanting to get out of that boring class. Lucky thing he was, being able to escape that lousy teacher using Abiah as an excuse. </p><p>    "Slow down. You're not okay, and the teacher told me to so you have to-" </p><p>    "I don't gotta do shit! Don't come near me, just go away." </p><p>    "Why? You're not okay." </p><p>    "I'm fine, you fucker." </p><p>    "Can you stop swearing for one moment and talk to me like a normal person?" </p><p>     Abiah stopped in his tracks and his face blanched. He felt his heart turn into a weighted stone and sink deep into his stomach. For a moment his whole body was cold like frost had been injected into his veins and were circulating faster than the blood itself, but the heat was brought back and he felt his pulse begin thudding. His fingers curled so tight they almost tore through his palms, leading crescent moons hovering a pink sky. His head began spinning and he whirled around, and the poison began dripping from his lips faster than he could think to contain it. </p><p>   He came damn close to screaming, his voice broken and shrill, "Am I not normal to you?! Am I really such a freak to you people? I hate all of you! You just suck so much, and everyone here should just shut up and leave me alone. I didn't do anything to deserve this. I wasn't hurting anybody, I was fucking wishing for you all to suffer from my dreadful, disgusting presence, and I never asked to suffer from <em>his</em> insufferable, disgusting, tentacle fuckery ass either. Go away, go away, go away!" </p><p>   His vision blurred and he felt his chest working double to get him the air he lost. It was getting hard to breath. His chest hurt. He carefully kneeled down onto the floor, closed his eyes, and just lurched, slamming his forehead to the floor. A short but high shriek echoed through the halls and he tried to empty as much emotion as he could into that one breath. Even as he opened his eyes he couldn't focus on anything and the tears threatening to pour made everything just a mess of swimming colors. He sat there forcing his breath even and clutching his sweatshirt with an iron grip. He couldn't let the fear and panic consume his being. He knew this. </p><p>    It was just another anxiety attack, it was nothing new, but it hurt nonetheless. </p><p>    It was hard not being in control and it just broke him down further. The thoughts of being worthless and on the brink of self-destruction would only fuel the problem. He jolted as he felt a hand on his back, giving him a few quick pats. Squinting, he peeked to the side and saw that the boy who had been sent after him had kneeled beside him. Under the white noise, he could hear him muttering words of comfort. Telling him it would be alright, that he was sorry, shushing him like some sort of infant. </p><p>    How insulting. </p><p>    Abiah pulled himself together for that one reason. He sat up, slapped the guy's hand away, and stood up, wiping his eyes. "I'm okay." Everyone knew those words were lies, but sometimes they were better than silence and avoidance. He didn't want to be at school anymore. It was over for him anyway. That freakout was begging for a phone call home; his mother was probably already on her way to pick him up. But, he didn't want to go home either. Oh well, running away would earn him a slap and a trip in a police car and probably some more melodramatic tears and gossip from mother dearest. Better just to sit still and let the hurricane die on its own, diving inland away from the sea it was born above.  </p><p>    Screw all of life. Maybe he could convince his mom to get him tutors, that way there would be fewer ways for the monster to mess with him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. E.E.L. - 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A shorter chapter. No dialogue. All bad thoughts in word form. </p><p>Poor Abiah.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   By the time he was sixteen his life had become a living hell. The hallucinations became severe, affecting not only sight but every sense. Touch, smell, taste, sound, everything in his environment became a plaything for the monster. He saw maggots in his food, dead cats in the cabinets, and in the backyard, a carcass was laid bare. He tasted the rot of the world; the decay. The degradation began, and his world became a slug's pace of change. He never trusted his eyes. Why would anyone trust what would become a plaything at a moment's notice? </p><p>   He only trusted the monster in the end; the security that nothing was real and that he couldn't die. Nothing he saw or felt could hurt him, and the monster only saw him as entertainment. That's all he was. Entertainment. And you know what? That's all he would ever be. </p><p>   It had whispered to him how beautiful he was, how glorious his eyes were. Like he was a gem the monster was waiting to snatch up from a store. Maybe it would rob the place in the night, or maybe it'd be daring and do a day robbery. Or perhaps it would act under the fallacy of decency and buy the gem. Whatever those things meant he wasn't particularly sure, they were just the scenarios his mind eluded him to. But, what were his thoughts to his toy of a body? No matter what he thought, it never matched reality; everything inside his head was a broken mess of shards and fragments of the reality he once knew and no longer could have. </p><p>   It was a mess he would stab his feet on endlessly as he walked down the road of illusion and despair. His puppet strings were the only thing keeping him moving and holding him up. His sheer stubborn will was the only thing keeping him from cutting those strings and letting his body fall limp to the ground where the glass would eat him up and the black swallow him whole to drown him in the darkness of eternity and madness.</p><p>   What were those things anyway? </p><p>   Eventually, it got to the point where he was beyond help in everyone's minds. His cynicism told him that they never had a chance, to begin with; they had switched medication to medication and tried stronger dosages that only made him sick. They tried therapy that only ruined him further, and ruined them, too. One by one, everyone gave up on him and had no hope for him. </p><p>   That was just fine. Now they'd stop bothering him. </p><p>   And for some strange reason? His mother stopped talking about him to her friends; she became uncomfortable with talking about him because it was no longer something she could seek pity from. All it did was make her look like a bad mother now. Her son truly couldn't be fixed and she no longer felt safe in her actions. She shut up and stopped showing him off. </p><p>   She hid him away. Locked him inside his room and did renovations to the house so that he didn't have to leave very often. He lived in a big room with its own bathroom, like a second master bed and bath. There was no glass anywhere. He didn't have any windows anymore to glance out of, though he still had his electronics and an overhead lamp that shone dim overly yellow light to his mess of a room. It was only a mess because he no longer gave a damn about keeping it orderly. He kept everything dusted and clean for sure, but organized wasn't an accurate descriptor. Not anymore. </p><p>   He spent most of his time studying and reading books. The one thing his mother was willing to do in return for his cooperation was to buy him books. Any book, it didn't matter the genre or length. He loved supernatural stories. Loved them to bits. He kept a bookcase in his room specifically for the supernatural genre of stories. He would stare lovingly at it every night before he attempted to sleep. It became his escape because for all the warping the monster did to his world, it always left his books alone. When he talked about them online in chat groups they'd always say the same things and he'd talk for hours to people about his love for the stories. He'd found actual friends online and just for that, he was thankful. </p><p>   He had his moments of total clarity, and he used those moments to do as many chores as possible around the house before he had to lock himself away in his prison cell of a room again. Maybe eat a few things that didn't taste like the dirt he walked across. It was kind of exhausting, walking through the storm to the eye, spending a few solitary minutes there, then turning and striding right back into the other half of the hurricane. It was a cycle he repeated often enough that it no longer felt like something to aim for. He'd happen upon those moments in a lackluster manner and drearily do normal life things while the sky was clear. </p><p>   He just felt empty most of the time. Like his like was a small little buzzing in the background of intense rumbles of thunder, flashes of lightning, the pouring of heavy rainfall that didn't seem like it'd let up as those heavy dark clouds that somehow remained up in the troposphere remained looming overhead in the forgotten gloaming. But still, nothing touched him inside his little brick house. His soul felt weighted by the whole universe, and he just felt so tired. He was just a tiny little buzz. That was all there was to his life, wasn't it? </p><p>   But turned out that his debility was the true calm before the storm. It was just reeling before the pitch. The monster was hoping for a home-run in its game. Abiah was standing across from the monster with his jersey on, behind him the catcher was glaring up and whispering how bad his luck was that he'd ended up facing off against the monster in the game. It wasn't even their game, it was the monsters game. Abiah was just the unfortunate fool who got dragged into it. He wasn't even a player, was he? 'Not that it ever mattered,' the catcher would say back, its voice just barely above a mumble. Then both would sneer at him. </p><p>   Time for the bat to be picked up, batter. Oh, and the helmet was missing. Perfect.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. E.E.L. - 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   He couldn't recall how he got locked in the room, why he was surrounded by plush white walls and destructive silence that made his ears ring. Or maybe the ringing wasn't true. God, he couldn't even tell reality from fantasy anymore. Okay, first he had to remember where he was, why was he in there? His head was so fuzzy, the last few years of his life a blur. </p><p>   Abiah recalled his age- he had just turned twenty-one years old, an age he never thought he'd reach, but it didn't come with parties or congratulations or anything one would expect from a newly of-age adult. Instead, it just marked the beginning of another year of life spent locked in the asylum, at the mercy of doctor and monster alike. </p><p>   He got locked away when his temper became too much to handle, his visions turning into waking nightmares that he couldn't control himself in. All his actions became hazy. He was about eighteen when he was told he needed to be kept locked up, somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone anymore. His mother had to give up her only child; she was destined to never have another, either. It really seemed pitiful, the poor woman never understood what exactly happened to them. Even now, Abiah felt nothing but guilt and regret for her. She never asked for any of that. </p><p>   Now all that was left were the memories of a more peaceful past. </p><p>   Abiah ran a hand through his hair and pushed his bangs from his face, staring blankly at the door in front of him. He was locked in solitary confinement again, he realized. Because. Because...?</p><p>   Because he was getting aggressive again, wasn't he? But why again? He had to pause his thoughts to get enough fog out of his head to remember what he'd done. He had shoved one of the nurses against the wall and demanded her to get him to some church or call in an exorcist to rid him of the spirit haunting him. He wasn't so sure the monster was just a monster anymore. It might've been an evil spirit, some sort of angry creature just taking its own spite out on him, or using him for its own twisted desires that warped it into whatever one could call the convoluted form it took on. </p><p>   They never believed him, so they dragged him kicking and screaming back to this panic room-like place. Locked him behind a soundproof door to shut him up and silence his pleas for help. Why was he asking for help again? He was reminded of the answer when the sloshing noises started up overhead again. </p><p>   Right. It threatened to kill him that morning. Told him that he was living on borrowed time, that his eyes would belong to it soon enough. </p><p>   A chill ran up his spine and his hair stood on end. He slowly turned around and stared up at the squirming mass of flesh and bobbing eyeballs, coming in and out of view like the meaty skin was just juice they were floating in. It didn't even matter where he ran; it'd always be there. His only hope for survival was locked out on the other side of a soundproof, reinforced door. His eyes started to water and he spun back around and started slamming his worn-out fists against the door, ignoring the pain that shot up his arms at the sheer force of his strikes. </p><p>   He banged as loudly as he could, beginning to scream out, begging them to let him out. </p><p>   "Don't leave me alone with this thing it's going to kill me!"</p><p>   He received a bang in return, and he jumped away from the door like a startled lamb. The medicine they injected into his bloodstream started to take effect and he felt the beginning of lethargy set in. His limbs were starting to get heavy, a weird buzz flowing through his veins. His throat felt raw and a lump kept any more words from spilling from quivering lips. He collapsed to his knees and stared with wet eyes at the door. </p><p>   This was it. This was where his life ended. </p><p>   He was a puppet about to have its strings cut. To hell with this tragic Shakespeare-written sob fest he called a life. He wanted to keep moving, dammit. But what was it he was trying to live for anyway? What did his failure of a life have to offer him should he have survived? Nothing. He meant nothing to the world and its people. Within the Blood Dome, he was just a miserable anomaly of a soul that doctors couldn't figure out. </p><p>   Worthless. Worthless worthless worthless worthless worthless- </p><p>  <em> "Even starting to think those things?"</em> the monster asked, its voice sent straight into his skull, drilling a path into his consciousness. No, a legion of voices all speaking together, man and woman alike. <em>"You're really far gone. I might have gone too far."</em> </p><p>   "Too far?!" Abiah screamed. "Your game cost me everything and you think that this is too far?!" </p><p>   It sniggered at him. "Well, we've gotten to the point? You already know what I was aiming for," it told him. </p><p>   What it was aiming for? His head spun as he tried to dance through all the possibilities, but even when he tried to think it was noisy and cluttered and why couldn't he think straight anymore. Isolation. It wanted him isolated. He knew this already. God, he already said that, didn't he? That isolation was his early dug grave. That the solitary confinement room was his final resting place.  But what about the cameras? Crap he forgot about his one saving grace. </p><p>   Abiah stood and searched the room for any cameras but he couldn't find anything that stuck out to him or wasn't probably covered by the monster. Was the monster able to hinder the cameras? Shit, it probably could if it were strong enough to speak now. This thing fucked with the environment more than once, it can do it again. Break those who spy on him from the safety of outside. They wouldn't rush here because why would they? Just one less thing to worry about, huh. Yeah. That'd be it, wouldn't it. </p><p>   His fingers and his toes, they felt numb; losing feeling, couldn't feel his nails digging into his palms leaving little divots in his skin. Wouldn't matter, it was all a haze anyway. Nerves both dead and on fire all at once. What time was it again? He tried to think but everything was starting to slip away again. Didn't matter, it'd all become a waste anyway. </p><p>   His face went carefully neutral as he stared up at the beast, the one that after all this time he never spoke a name for. Never bothered to learn if it even had one, and never wished to grace it with that respect. Giving it an identity meant acknowledging it as something he would have called out to. </p><p>   Sometimes he wondered what his life would've been like without this overwhelming force pressing his shoulders down almost constantly, slowly eating away at him until nothing was left but a pile of numb bones -a carcass. Nothing. There was nothing, wasn't there? Who really cared. </p><p>   He closed his eyes and sighed out a soft breath, letting that painless numbness wash over him, those tentacles of peachy flesh wormed their way over and around, they felt so loving and tender. So wonderful. Who would have thought they would be warm, such a gentle forthcoming moment. </p><p>   Everything faded. He heard a clatter, but it sounded to distant. It didn't matter...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>   For a moment everything was silent- black. Just ... he felt like he was drifting, lost in an abyss of nothing. It was something, wasn't it? Oh well, who really knew. </p><p>   The peaceful breathing in his chest, that simple fall and rise was all he could focus on in that darkness. The more his thoughts hovered in those spots, the more his ocean of black began to fill with blue. Odd, for color to be cascading upward from the ravines below his bloated mind. </p><p>   Oh, he could still feel his limbs. Actually, he felt more than he did before, it was decidedly not normal. Was death supposed to be something he could feel? Wait, could you feel your body in hell? Maybe death really was painless and hell was not someplace of eternal pain and agony. Or how about it was no different than life? The world humans lived in was probably worse than any hell the devil's population could think of. Nothing was sorrier than living on Earth. Just one happening after the next, and suddenly you're hurting, sobbing, bleeding, screaming- <em>alive</em>. </p><p>   Oh, but what's life without pain? That's what makes a human a human, after all. To not feel anything, isn't that what a true monster feels? Who knows. He can't ask the monster anymore; he's gone. But really why could he feel his body? Why wasn't anything hurting? </p><p>   "Hey, are you just gonna lay there playing dead forever? Actually, are you even awake?" he felt a foot shove his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Wait, when did he lay down? Did he pass out? Ugh, that could be sorted out later. </p><p>   Abiah peeled his eyes open and grimaced at the feeling of having a foot on him like he was some kind of submussive serving his dom. He scowled at the offending foot, a black leather shoe with matching black laces, oddly clean and shiny, and then trailed his way up to the person's face. A man stood, staring down at him with a cocked eyebrow. The stranger tilted his head just a tad, then shrugged, a small twitch up his lips betraying his otherwise neutral face. He found it amusing, did he? </p><p>   "Who the fuck are you?" Abiah slurred out. He winced at the hoarseness in his voice, and how his tongue didn't work properly and decided it was probably better to shut up and work his tongue back into dexterity while he figured out what exactly just happened. By himself. He didn't need whoever this guy was to put two and two together. </p><p>   Right? </p><p>   Right. </p><p>   "The better question would be who are you and where are your manners?" The man said back, giving a halfhearted shrug as he spoke those words, looking none too concerned with Abiah's hostility. Abiah squinted his eyes and continued to lick the inside of his mouth and even bit his tongue a few times as he waited. The man seemed to get the hint that Abiah wasn't in for a game and pursed his lips. "Okay, my name's Jason. No last name, only first. You don't need to know anything else. Just that I saved your miserable life. You're welcome." </p><p>   Abiah snorted. "What if I didn't want to be saved?" </p><p>   "The lovely nurses outside said you were crying and screaming for someone to save you." </p><p>   Abiah snapped his mouth shut and pouted. "Okay maybe that did happen, but it doesn't mean anything," he said. Then a prickly thought he was distracted from slammed hard into the center of his brain, ramming everything in its path out of the way. He blinked and sat up, "Wait, where's the monster?" he glanced around but found not even the vaguest hint of it anywhere. Where the fuck did it go? </p><p>   "Are you talking about the Eel?" Jason asked. </p><p>   "The ... eel? The fuck you mean eel?" </p><p>   "You can calm down with the 'fuck' word now, please. The E.E.L., or Eel, is the name of the spirit that was possessing you. It's an acronym. It stands for Eyeless Eye Lover. A fairly descriptive name." </p><p>   "Eyeless Eye Lover? It didn't look like it had no eyes. You say that thing was a spirit, you sure it wasn't a monster?" </p><p>   "The eyes on and in its body were from previous victims. Ones it possessed long before you. It goes after those with beautiful or uniquely colored eyes. Kind of like your pale grey eyes. Also, it's classified as a spirit due to lacking a physical form and being able to whisk away to a distant place at a moment's notice. Monster is just an umbrella term. It's truthfully either Spirit, Beast, or Mutant." </p><p>    Abiah screwed up his face and gawked in both chagrin and vexation. He ground his teeth and shook his head, "Forget it. How did you even find me?" It was probably useless to try and ask Jason to actually explain everything he just said. It wasn't as if he were going to stick around and give a simple nobody -a lunatic- a bunch of information on something bound to never crop up again. What would he even do with the knowledge? Rather, would it benefit him at all? "Where did the monster, or spirit, go? Did you kill it?" </p><p>   A feeble throbbing was starting somewhere in the back of Abiah's skull, like his brain itself was just pulsing weakly. Oh, great, now he was getting a headache. He felt a bit sick now that his senses were all coming back in a rush. He must've hit his head when he passed out or something, and now the medicine the staff gave him was making him feel disgusting on the inside. God, he could use some water and sleep. Nothing worked better than sleep when it came to coming down from any kind of drug. </p><p>   Jason clicked his tongue and tilted his head to the side. Just keeping his eyes Jason was becoming taxing. Abiah let his eyelids droop and he began to feel an odd sort of hollow exhaustion deep inside his chest that was amplified by the sick in his stomach; his adrenaline was wearing off. What a wonderful evening. Is it evening? God he wished he had a clock for once. He was dragged from his little internal complaints when Jason pulled out a card from the fanny pack settled on his left hip. </p><p>   The card had a brown back with a rather intricate golden star in the center of it outlined in white and a beige border. Jason flipped the card around and he realized in an instant that it was a tarot card. Specifically one of the major arcana; The Magician. It was odd in that it was painted in mainly dark colors, looking ominous. He felt threatened just looking at the card, and also there was confusion nibbling at the back of his mind. Abiah looked up at Jason in silence, hoping his face displayed his unspoken question. He didn't feel like speaking. </p><p>   It got through and Jason sighed. "The Eel is inside this card. I sealed it away. You feel it, don't you?" Abiah gawked at the card and nodded just the slightest bit. Yeah. The dread leaking back into his veins at the sight of that card definitely could be believed as sensing the biggest terror of his life. So far. God now with is gone what was he going to do? That thing had been his whole life for so many years ... he didn't know how to survive without the monster- the Eel breathing down his neck. </p><p>   "So, all that out of the way? Good," Jason said. He gave a short wave and turned to the door. When his hand was on the handle, Abiah felt a sudden panic bubble up inside his chest. </p><p>   "Don't leave!" he blurted, wincing at his own shout's volume. He stared up at Jason with eyes wide in ... fear? God, he didn't feel like naming the emotions he was feeling at that moment. Instead, all his focus was on the man about to abandon him. </p><p>Jason had, thankfully, paused and peered down at him. He shook his head, "God, I'm not leaving yet. I'm just going to talk to the nurse outside. You can wait for a minute." He turned to leave, but stopped and gave Abiah a leery glance. "Can't you?" </p><p>   Yeah, why did he want to keep this guy around? "I'm fine," he muttered, ignoring the unease telling him otherwise. Jason nodded at that and opened the door, leaving the room. He didn't close the door, leaving it open a crack, probably to assure Abiah he wasn't being locked away again. It wasn't enough to comfort him, though, and he glanced nervously around the room he was in. At the blank padded walls, the floor that's probably been washed with bleach far too many times, the cuffs on one of the wall for emergencies.</p><p>   He didn't want to be there anymore. He wanted to leave. He wanted...</p><p>   "I want to go home..." He sat curled up on the floor, knees hugged to his chest, staring at the cuffs on the back wall. He was vaguely aware of voices on the other side of the door behind him. He felt nauseous, his stomach rolling and practically doing a jaunty jig. Except fuck everything related to the word jaunty. All the cheer of the world could shove itself right up its own ass. </p><p>   He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to ground himself. He let his mind wander over to the muffled conversation behind him, doing his best to focus on the words instead of how he felt for once. Before, he wouldn't give a damn about what they were saying about him, but now that he knew that he was free from the source of his heartache, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him. There was no more reason to keep him locked up, was there?</p><p>   Abiah found himself laughing bitterly. Not that they'd be persuaded by a stranger showing up claiming to have defeated a monster. A man-made from science wouldn't understand a world made of magic. He'd be left to stew in his own fake insanity for a long time still. The questions just kept building in his mind regardless. So was he stuck here until he could prove he wasn't under the influence? Would his mother even want him back? What was he supposed to do? </p><p>   There was no answer. Or, would Jason answer him instead of his own worn-down mind? The guy came out of nowhere and seemed to know what he was doing, so it wouldn't hurt to ask. Would it? He sighed. <em>"I feel a bit discredited."</em> </p><p>   He perked up when he saw the door start to creak open as Jason leaned a hand against it; he was finishing up his conversation with the nurse, it seemed. Abiah turned slightly, facing the door a bit more, but kept himself firmly in a ball. When Jason turned to the room and was only a step inside, Abiah already had questions lined up for him. "What did you say? What are they going to do with me? Did they believe anything you said?" </p><p>   Jason put a hand up to silence any further questioning and then lifted the hand to scratch at his scalp.</p><p>   "Well, they claim you're still volatile even without the hallucinations, so they're concerned about you losing your temper in public. They might keep you here until you prove more emotionally stable," he said, completely ignoring the other questions. Abiah scowled and sharpened his stare, trying to mentally will Jason to spill his brain's contents. The man didn't budge but threw him a bone.</p><p>   "This Dome doesn't get many Monsters, so they're skeptical. Other Domes can get constant harassment, so in those places, they'd free you to a different sort of specialist the moment they knew you were possessed before. A doctor with knowledge of the effects Monsters can cause," Jason said.</p><p>   He then went quiet and it looked like he was pondering something. For a bit Abiah just watched him, unmoving from his place on the dirty floor. "You can't do anything, can you," Abiah muttered, glancing down to his shoeless feet. It wasn't a question. He scrapped his teeth over his upper lip and decided just to resign to fate. </p><p>   "I can do a lot." </p><p>   "For me," Abiah clarified, dropping his head to his knees. </p><p>   "I cannot do a lot." </p><p>    Goddammit. </p><p>   "But I can do something." </p><p>    God yes.</p><p>   "What can you do?" Abiah looked up at him hopefully, his heart squeezing and telling him he shouldn't be putting any faith into this stranger. He told his heart to fuck off and let his idiot side take control every once in a while. Being pessimistic about every little thing never got him far in life but he kept at it anyway since it was better to just be disappointed from the start rather than have any and all hopes crushed for literally every single reason available. Like hell he's gonna let it anchor him down at this moment when there was <em>actually a chance</em> some optimism could work out. </p><p>   Jason closed the door behind him and crouched down beside Abiah. He whispered into his ear, "I could break you out." Then he sat back on his heels and cocked his head, an eyebrow quirked. Abiah gawked with wide eyes at him, but soon his mouth formed a frown. He could break him out? Wouldn't that be illegal?</p><p>   "I know what you're thinking, but we're not going to use illegal means to do that. I'll talk to my boss and try to have you 'transferred' to a better dome for treatment. I'm not sure what happens to people who've been possessed by Eel, and I don't want to leave you alone to these morons and find out when they call us to confirm you died anyway." He waved his hand around as he talked, gesturing broadly which wasn't the sort of thing Abiah expected Jason to do. He kept his hands firmly to his sides the whole time talking to him earlier, and now he's just ... moving them so much. </p><p>   Wait a second, "Are you implying nobody has survived that thing before?" </p><p>   "Too many false reports. Too many times it got away just in time. Too many times we were just a little too late," he explained, running a hand down his face. "It can let go of a possessed person and vanish into thin air long before one of our agents can get to it. It always comes back and kills them when we least expect it. The moment the victim has just enough privacy. It only takes a couple minutes to do everything it needs." </p><p>   Jason leaned back against the door, soon falling back into a sitting position, a dreary sigh escaping him. Abiah didn't think he could frown any deeper, but he still felt his exhausted face fall further.</p><p>   Somehow, he didn't feel any fear in regards to that, just a blankness deep in his mind where somehow he knew that even if he were saved he wouldn't be 'saved.' The monster would probably always haunt him, somehow, even from within that little card. </p><p>   Abiah slumped back over onto his side and stared blankly at the door behind Jason. This was a lot to process to one person who just experienced a near-death. </p><p>   "I want to sleep," Abiah muttered. Jason, seeming to expect that, simply stood and opened the door. He reached down and hooking his arms under Abiah's armpits and hoisted him up to his feet. The sudden change sent Abiah's head spinning but Jason was kind enough to let Abiah lean on him, holding up his lax weight. </p><p>   Who was he? Who knew why that question needed to be asked. Who was <em>he</em>? Well, the 'he' in question was Abiah. As Jason, the angel, helped Abiah to his room, the young man did only what his mind had energy for. Think. Think of everything all over again. The past two hours, the past two days, the past two months, the past two years, the past. </p><p>   As he laid down in the stiff bed the hospital provided, he just stared at the pure white ceiling and thought and thought and thought. The past stopped mattering when it became the past. Only the present matters because it's the present. The future might matter, but it might also not matter because time can be existent in a non-critical way. It was too exhausting to think about, really.  </p><p>   Behind his closed eyelids the teeny dark spots that flit in and out like static and those weird vague swishes that he thinks are the blood in his eyelid pulsing keep his mind preoccupied, his focus preoccupied, let him drift with fair ease. He wanted some music, to just slip earbuds into his ears and listen to anything, even empty atmospheric or drone, but he had to make do with nothing like the rest of the times he freaked out. </p><p>   He could probably convince Jason to let the nurses give him back his music, but they probably wouldn't risk it. He wasn't sure why they didn't take control of the situation post-sealing of the Eel. He cracked an eye open and peeked at Jason who was sitting by the door, scrolling through his phone with a disinterested look on his face. Nah, he couldn't bother him. </p><p>   But, he... </p><p>   "Can you stay here?" Abiah asked, surprised at how weak he sounded at that moment. He didn't have much energy to chase that feeling, just letting it shrivel up and die off along with any apprehensions he had about looking vulnerable. People always saw him at his worst, so why should it matter anymore how people saw him at any other time? Insane or vulnerable, there wasn't much of a difference. Who cared? </p><p>   Jason's eyes raised from the phone to Abiah's face, then fell back to the phone's screen. "Told you we're moving you to a professional later. Not going until you're moved," he said.</p><p>   Abiah relaxed and closed his eyes again, relaxing into the sheets again. He hoped Jason stayed until he woke up again. The only person in his whole life who could tell what was truly ailing him, what was truly haunting him... </p><p>   He didn't want this man to go. </p><p>   He didn't dream at all. And for once, his sleep was undisturbed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A reminder that this is a vent story and most of this is just my darker thoughts shoved into some semblance of a plot. Don't expect any quick updates or anything. I only work on this when I'm feeling really bad.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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